And I will lead the blind in a way that they
do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn
the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground.—Isaiah
42:16
So…I did it last
week, finally. I cried. I admit it.
People have
said, “Wow, DC is a cool place—you’ll have lots of fun!” Maybe it is a cool
place. But it sure doesn’t look that way when you have to wake up in the dark
in order to be on time, or when your commute is stressful and time-consuming. You’re
visualizing everything that could go wrong at work and you haven’t even gotten
past job training yet. You get lost in what has been named the worst traffic in
the country. And even if you do something fun in the city, it doesn’t matter a
lick unless you have someone close to you to enjoy it with.
And it doesn’t
help if you haven’t had a really good cup of coffee in a long while.
I know—first
world problems, right?
But deeper
than all of those little physical “problems” is the fact that I desperately
miss my people. I’d rather be doing things with my parents and brothers and
sister than anyone else. And I miss my church family, young people who will sit
down and put their hands on me and pray for me, if I need it. People who are
not afraid to touch me.
The reason I
cried last week was because I visited a new church. I liked it, but it wasn’t
exactly right. Once you’ve had that family connection to a church, it’s hard to
accept anything less. I know, I know, I only tried it once, so I really shouldn’t
judge this particular congregation so fast, but the whole experience just
reminded me how much I wanted instant connection…instant family.
Driving back
from church, I stopped for gas, and I was so desperate that I asked some random
people at the gas station where they went to church. They were nice people,
about my age, dressed in Sunday best. They gave me some recommendations. But
then I got back into my car and accidentally drove to Maryland, and (after I
asked some random guys at a random car show for directions) I heard this song
on the radio about somebody desperately wanting to know God’s will, and that’s
when I cried. I tried to make a joyful noise and worship, but the lump in my
throat just wouldn’t let me. And I even cried later on the phone with my mom, walking
through my neighborhood. Luckily the neighbors weren’t out.
This morning
I got all emo and turned to 1 Peter so I could whine about “suffering.” 1 Peter
is the go-to book if you feel like you’re facing trials. Even if they are
first-world trials.
To those who are elect exiles of the
dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, according to the
foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for
obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood: May grace and
peace be multiplied to you.—1 Peter 1:1
Right away,
I noticed (for the first time) that this letter is to “the elect exiles of the
dispersion.” I identified with that immediately. Ok, maybe I am not a
missionary in Asia driven from my home and hiding from persecutors. But I do
feel pretty exiled. I feel as though I have been dispersed, a word that brings to mind separation from family and
familiarity.
But check
it: according to the foreknowledge of God
the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ—and
here’s the kicker—for the sprinkling with
his blood. Peter is telling them that they may be exiles, but God knew
about this from the start. As a matter of fact, they were out there because they were obedient to Christ—who
had sealed them (keep in mind, this is the Prince of Peace, the Lord of Lords,
the first and last, the ruler of all) with HIS OWN blood.
I wasn’t
sure if Peter understood about commuting and coffee, but I kept reading.
Verse 3-4: …According to his great mercy, he has caused
us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ
from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading,
kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for
a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
You know,
just in case you were wondering about that inheritance thing…it’s eternal.
Unlike your life on earth. We get a new life—or, as Paul would put it, “that
which is truly life” (1 Timothy 6:19). This is a “living hope.” Which explains
why Peter uses the word “rejoice”—in the present
tense—in the next verse.
Rejoice. Not really the word I would use
to describe my feeble, tearful attempt to worship in the car on the way back
from my accidental detour into Maryland.
(For those
of you who are wondering, Maryland is visible from DC. So it is not as far as
it sounds. I’m just being dramatic.)
Then Peter
continues about “various trials,” going on about how we are “tested by fire”…you
know, all the things you want to hear if you are feeling sorry for yourself (and
if you think that getting up at 5:20 a.m. falls under the “tested by fire”
category). But then he says something interesting: Though you have not seen him, you love him.
This is
coming from a man who had seen Jesus;
who had, in fact, been His most intimate friend when He walked the earth, and
had seen Him when he came back from the dead.
Though you do not now see him, you believe
in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory,
obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
You do not now see him, not in this
moment, not in these trials. But you
believe in him. And it is in the rejoicing over this hope that we obtain
the salvation of our souls.
There’s that
word again: rejoice.
Not only do
we rejoice, we are filled with the kind of joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory.
I have to
wonder how these words must have sounded to the exiled missionaries Peter was
writing to, men and women who had been obedient to their calling and were
likely were spilling blood, sweat, and tears every day for their faith. They
could sing because, in their new eternal lives, although their bodies would
perish, their spirits actually couldn’t
be killed. To people who were probably being hunted, this was reason enough
for joy inexpressible.
D.C. isn’t
some evil city or anything, but it is a place where I’ve heard the name of
Jesus used as a swear word at least 20 times in the past week. In other words,
it’s just like the rest of the world. So when I, an exile from the spiritual
nest of my parents and church family, hear the words of Peter, I feel
encouraged.
Physically,
I don’t feel my best or look my best. Let’s be real: my hair looks crappy. My
eating habits have been off, I’m losing my tan, my clothes are always wrinkled,
and my face is breaking out. My body is confused by my sleep schedule. Between
intense workdays and commutes, and living with relatives, I feel like I don’t
ever really have a true, honest-with-myself moment alone, or with the Lord. (My
relatives are awesome, generous, and a blessing, but it’s not like having my
home territory completely my own like I have for two years before.) My whole
life is like a hotel. It’s almost like I am a perpetual traveler, someone
always on my feet and strapped to a backpack, far from everything familiar and
having to adjust myself by the day, and never really finding rest.
Oh yeah…that’s
probably how missionaries feel.
And how
Jesus Himself felt. Because I am adopted by way of His blood, the way that I
feel like an exile is the same way He did: a Son of the living God, stranded in
a dead world that doesn’t understand the meaning of the word rejoice.
Talk about
not getting any rest. Jesus was wandering around here with a bunch of guys who
woke Him up from much-needed sleep with their cries of, “Jesus! Help us! We’re
about to die!”
And when he got into the boat, his disciples
followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the
boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke
him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.” And he said to them, “Why are
you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the
sea, and there was a great calm.—Matthew 8:23-26
Jesus wasn’t
sleeping on the job. He was just trying to get a little rest…Dude was tired,
ok? But even more than that, He trusted His Father. He knew the plan from start
to finish, and He knew He wasn’t destined to die in a boat on a dinky little
sea. (He knew exactly how He would die, in fact.) He could rest, because He
knew who was in control.
Peter saw Him, and went and woke Him up,
because he was afraid. But we do not even
see Him, and yet we love Him. More than our physical bodies are saved from
the storm; the outcome of our faith
is the salvation of our souls.
Let’s
revisit the very first lines of 1 Peter again:
To those who are elect exiles of the
dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, according to the
foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for
obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood: May grace and
peace be multiplied to you. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a
living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an
inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for
you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready
to be revealed in the last time.
Blessed be
the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! He is in control. He’s got His eye
on the ship. And it is not going down. I mean, especially if you followed Him
into the boat, which is apparently what the disciples did. And what I have
done. I know I am not preaching on another continent or running Bibles into
China or rescuing children out of slavery. But I know for a fact that I have
been called here.
Check out
the link at the bottom of this post for an awesome song. It’s about wanting to
stay in a comfortable place in a little nook of Jesus’ glory, but being called higher
by God. Story of my life, right? I could
sit in a comfortable place with my Bible on my lap, with plenty of sleep and
complete control of my schedule, and I would grow…but in verse 13, 1 Peter
says, Therefore, preparing your minds for
action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be
brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
Prepare your
minds for action. Being still is very
important (it is what Jesus told the
storm—or the disciples, however you choose to view it—to do), and we should
never compromise on time being still and communing with the Lord. But we also
must move. We must set our hope fully on
salvation. We must step onto the boat.
The bridge
of the song says: “And I will be yours,
Lord/I will be yours for all my life.”
As painful as
early mornings are, and as out-of-control as I feel, in my heart of hearts, I
would rather be His than my own. I would rather have that which is truly life. And so I guess I must learn to sing
through the lump in my throat. What looks like a storm to me is something that
Jesus can look at and say, “Peace. Be still.”
Rejoice. And, may grace and peace be multiplied to you.
Oh, and side
note: if you pray for opportunities to share your faith with your coworkers, it
will happen. It might even be forced to happen, in diversity training, when you
are made to go through a list of touchy subjects and discuss what they mean to
you, religion included.
Just fyi.
I seriously want to join this band.
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